


Memories

by mikhailosbitch



Series: I miss you [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Love, M/M, One Shot, Post Season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikhailosbitch/pseuds/mikhailosbitch
Summary: He can’t get him out of his head.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is really short but something I just couldn't get out of my head so I wrote it down.

It's 10:04pm. Ian follows the guy he just met into his apartment. It's clean, tidy, decorated with shit from the Home Depot. Boring.  
The guy, Ian forgot his name the second he told him, has blond hair and brown eyes, a slight tan to his skin. Sex is alright, clean, orderly. Boring.  
When they're done the guy reaches for his hand but Ian flinches and hastily grabs his clothes. He murmurs a quick goodbye and then he's out the door.

On his way home he buys a Snicker’s. Eats it as slowly as possible. Tries to savor the moment. The memory that comes with this candy bar. It's a thousand times better than the sex he just had.

When he's finished all he can taste is the salt of his tears.

 

He should pay attention. He really really should. His boss is explaining some pretty important shit right now, shit he has to know when he starts his next shift. Rita's voice is warm and loud, easy to listen to but Ian can't. Can't concentrate. The notes he took earlier seem blurry in his eyes and he doesn't take more like he's supposed to do.

Instead he draws letters right at the edge of the paper. Capital letters. Seven letters and a hyphen.  
FUCK U-UP.  
Ian remembers those letters tattooed on scarred skin. Scarred knuckles. 

It's fucking beautiful.

 

It's Saturday and Ian and his siblings are standing next to the field screaming their lungs out. Liam started playing baseball about half a year ago and he's good. But his team is losing right now because the fucking ref sucks.  
Some of Liam's team members protest. Without success. There's nothing they can do about it.

Ian tries not to think of that day when he himself was in Little League and the game was being ruled unfairly. A small scrawny ten year old started walking, ignoring the shouts of the coach and the ref, unzipped his pants and pissed on first base. He got kicked out of the team.

Liam's team loses and the Gallaghers go home, Fiona giving her youngest brother encouraging smiles and assuring that next time they'll win.  
Ian stays at the field until everyone else is gone.

He leans against the chain linked fence digging his fingers into the holes.  
Remembers the taste of blood in his mouth. Tongue. Kiss.  
Looking to the ground he sees crumpled clothes laying there, quickly pulled off.

As he takes his hands off the fence they're bloody.

 

Gun shots. Common noises at the South Side. Everybody here is used to them. So is Ian.  
He hears them while going home after buying groceries as he's passing a bunch of abandoned buildings.

His mind recalls. Strong hands holding a gun like they've done this their whole life. They almost have.  
Bang. Bang. Bang.  
Cigarette hanging from split lips. Smoke blowing through a straight nose.

Yeah, Ian likes bad boys. No, one bad boy.

Fuck, he's still in love.

 

Summer. Shitty high school reunion meeting. Ian doesn't wanna be here at all but Fiona said he needs to make some friends. Ian has friends, he does. He just doesn't feel like hanging out with people that are not family anymore. Fiona kinda knows that but doesn't want to hear it. So he's here.  
He meets some people he used to have a couple classes with and a lot of faces he swears he has never seen before.  
Three hours later it is over and the school is empty.

Ian finds himself under the bleachers of the sports field.  
Lights a cigarette and sits down.

'Missed ya.' Voice rough and oddly warm. Ian will never forget this voice.  
Never.

And he remembers the last time he was here.

Blue beanie, ear long hair peaking out underneath. Beard, black jacket, dark red shirt, beer can.  
The image is burned in Ian's mind like it was yesterday.

'You're under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?' Warm hands gripping the jacket of his uniform, restless.

Ian's fingers clench around the black phone in his pocket. The phone he carries with him at all time. Hoping for a call that will never come. 

A call he doesn't deserve.

The sky turns dark and Ian cries until there's nothing left but dry sobs rattlingly escaping his lungs.

 

The door was open. The house empty. Ian enters the room with the friendly reminder 'Stay the fuck out' on the door. 

Posters. Pictures of guns, weed and bands. The one with spoon. A fucking great taste in music.

And a picture of him, Ian. Hanging on the wall. His own face staring at him, hat on his head and a raised middle finger. Mandy took it.  
The photo is crumpled at the edges and was folded several times. Someone looked at it a lot.

While tears blurry his sight Ian smiles. He never knew about this photo.

And then he looks at the bed.

The sheets are messy. They must be the same as three years ago.

Ian kicks off his shoes and crawls into the bed. Hides under the blankets. Buries his face in the pillow.

The smell isn't gone.

 

He can still smell Mick.

 

The next day he asks his boss what it would take to transfer him.

 

In the end Mandy tells Ian where in Mexico he is.

 

Ian's sight is blurry again when he sees him.

 

Short.

Jet black hair.

The bluest eyes Ian has ever seen.

Dark eyebrows, one raised.

 

Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich.


End file.
